Welcome to Blissville

by Walker, Aimee Nicole

  I cranked up the heat and navigated my way through the streets of town then the dark county road, being extra careful to avoid patches of black ice. I saw the emergency lights flashing in the distance not long after I left town limits. I pulled over to the side of the road the best I could, without getting my car stuck in the freshly plowed snow from the recent storm that came through. I turned my emergency blinkers on and made my way over to the uniforms standing around the scene of what looked like a car accident.

  “Hold up,” one of the uniformed deputies said when I approached. “This is official sheriff’s business.” His tone of voice was grating and the arrogant look on his face had me instantly disliking him. There was a way of conducting yourself in a professional, authoritative way without sounding like a dick face, but apparently, the jackass missed that particular training session.

  I pulled my badge off my belt and held it up. “I’m here on official business,” I replied calmly, even though his attitude didn’t deserve the respect I showed him. “Sheriff Tucker called me and asked me to come to the scene.” His attitude didn’t improve when I identified myself.

  I heard the sheriff say, “Stand down and let the man through, Billy.”

  The brick wall had no intention of moving, which felt oddly personal to me for a man I’d never met before. As I shouldered past him, I heard the words “queer boy” being muttered beneath his breath. Ahh, that was the asshole’s problem. I might not have known him but he’d apparently heard about me. If I hadn’t been on official police business, I would’ve stopped and confronted him. I had a strong feeling that I’d get my chance in the near future; equally foreboding was the feeling that this thing with Nate Turner wasn’t going away once I made an identification.

  “Over here, Detective Wyatt.” Sheriff Tucker walked toward the single-car accident and I followed behind him. The flashing red and blue lights from the deputies’ cars mixed with the yellow lights of the tow truck waiting for the scene to be cleared so he could haul the car off. The only things that were missing from a typical accident were the EMTs and ambulance, but the presence of the county coroner van explained their absence.

  “Holy shit,” I said when I caught sight of the damage to the vehicle. It had hit a tree head-on and the impact to the car looked hard enough to kill a person without the extra bullet that the sheriff had told me about.

  “Come over to this side,” Tucker said, gesturing to the passenger side of the car. “Let me tell you, someone really wanted this guy dead.” The sheriff shook his head slowly and stepped aside so I could get a view of the victim inside the car. “Ran the plates and the car came back as belonging to a Nate Turner from Cincinnati. That him?”

  I leaned forward and looked inside the car. Nate’s dead eyes stared at me from where his head rested on the deflated airbag. His skin was deathly white, his lips were blue, and dried blood splotched his face from where the bullet entered his forehead. The back of his head didn’t fare as well when the bullet exited his skull, as blood and brain matter splattered the driver side door.

  “That’s him.” I stood up and faced the sheriff. “What the hell happened here?”

  “Looks like he lost control of his car over there,” Tucker lit up tire tracks in snow with his flashlight, “came down the embankment and hit this tree head-on.” Tucker walked around to the rear of the driver side of the luxury sedan and pointed to dents at the corner of the trunk and rear quarter panel. “He was obviously hit before he lost control.” Sheriff Tucker turned off his flashlight and faced me. “The passenger window was broken–either from the impact or done purposely–and the killer leaned in and fired one bullet into Turner’s skull. The bullet exited his skull and shattered the driver side window. We’ve been unable to find the spent bullet or the casing and any usable footprints in the snow were destroyed by the first officers on the scene.” None of that was good news to hear when investigating a homicide.

  Jesus, Nate! You should’ve called the damn cops like I told you. “Damn,” I said to the sheriff. “Someone really wanted to make sure he was dead.”

  “How do you know him, Detective?” Sheriff Tucker asked.

  “He owns a club in Cincinnati that I’ve been to a few times.” My answer was met with a snicker from the dickhead deputy somewhere behind me. I thought our moment of reckoning might come sooner than I first predicted.

  “Find something to do, Sampson,” Sheriff Tucker bellowed loudly over my shoulder. Once my ear stopped ringing, I was grateful to have the full name of my new nemesis. Billy Sampson. “You were saying, Detective.”

  “I gave him my card when we met at his club a little over a year ago.” I left out the part where Nate had gotten up close and personal with my ass. It wasn’t relevant to the story. “He called me a little over a month ago and asked me to come see him. He said he needed my help.”

  “What kind of help?” the sheriff asked when I paused to breathe. Damn, I was getting there.

  “Nate’s car had been vandalized one night and then he started receiving threatening emails. He was visibly shaken by the tone of them and I thought he wanted advice on what to do.”

  “But he didn’t?”

  “He didn’t say it out loud, but I’m pretty sure he didn’t want the police department digging into his personal life or business dealings to find out who was threatening him,” I told the sheriff.

  “So why’d he call you then?” Tucker asked.

  That question was trickier. There was nothing Nate had said during our meeting that indicated that he wanted me to do anything illegal. It was his body language, gestures, and the fact that he refused to involve the police. Someone killed Nate and I owed it to him to be as honest as I could be so that his killer was brought to justice. “I got the impression he wanted to hire me to find the person through non-legal channels. He didn’t say as much, but it was the feeling I had. He wasn’t happy about my refusal nor with me for repeating my recommendation to phone the police.”

  “Let’s head to the station to talk,” Tucker said. I couldn’t tell from his tone if he believed me or not.

  Regardless, I followed him to the Carter County Sheriff’s Department. Once we arrived, he showed me to his office and asked if I wanted a cup of coffee. He had his own Keurig setup in his office so I figured why not. It wasn’t like I was worried about them running my prints in connection to ones found on Nate’s car. I had never touched that car, not even at the scene of the accident. I made myself a cup of coffee and relaxed into the chair across from his desk. I had done nothing wrong and had nothing to hide from Sheriff Tucker.

  “Can you recall what the threatening emails said?” he asked.

  “Vividly,” I replied, setting my cup down on his desk. “The first one included a photo of Nate inspecting his damaged tires outside of his club. It told him how easy he could’ve been killed then, but where was the fun in that?” I looked at the sheriff and said, “I’m paraphrasing here. I can remember the content, but the exact wording might be off.”

  “Fair enough.” He nodded for me to continue.

  “The other email included photos of Nate inside his house. He was nude in them and doing various things like talking on the phone while holding a coffee cup or looking out the back door in the direction of the person taking the photo. The message said something about it was a shame to waste a cock like his then referenced cutting off his dick and making Nate choke on it.”

  “Ouch.” Sheriff sat back in his chair and I could tell he was fighting the urge to cover his privates. It was a kneejerk reaction to hearing about someone losing their cock. “Was there anything else that you can remember?”

  “Nate said he responded to one of the messages, I think it was the first one. He said that his email was returned with an error message that stated the email address he sent it to didn’t exist. I also noted that the emails were sent at the exact same time of day each time they were sent.”

  “And that was?” he asked.

  “Two in the a
fternoon.”

  “Do you mind if CSU looks at your car for evidence of damage and are you willing to have a gunshot residue test performed on your hands?” Tucker asked.

  I had never been accused or questioned about an involvement in a crime. I had told Tucker everything that I knew. It galled me to be doubted, but I had nothing to hide from him. “I’ll agree to both things.”

  “Good man,” Tucker said, then rose to his feet. “I’ll send a deputy in here to perform the GSR test.”

  A friendly deputy, who identified herself as Hannah Arnold, performed the test on my hands. I sat in Tucker’s office and drank coffee while I waited for him to give me the all clear. It took him a lot longer than I appreciated, but he finally dragged his ass back into his office a little before six.

  “You’re free to go, Detective.” No apologies for holding me longer than necessary or doubting me in the first place. “If you think of anything else…”

  “…You’ll be the first to know,” I finished for him on my way out of his office.

  I locked eyes with the homophobic deputy on my way out the door. I wanted so badly to let Billy Sampson know what I thought about him, but I knew it wasn’t the right time. I knew without a shadow of a doubt that our time to have words would come. Instead, I puckered up my lips into a kissy face at him and headed out into the cold.

  A chill worked its way down my spine, that had nothing to do with the subzero temperature, as I made my way to my car. I was overwhelmed with a feeling that I was being watched, and not by some camera in the parking lot. This presence was dark and ominous. I looked around me to see if I could find the source, but I couldn’t. Nor could I shake off the feeling that Nate Turner had practically brought his trouble to my front door.

  It shocked me how addicted I’d become to sleeping beside Gabe, even though it was only a few nights a week. I hated waking up alone, especially in his bed, but I understood it would happen sometimes. I fell back to sleep easily enough after Gabe left because he had worn me out the night before. I swear, the man fucked me like he’d never have another go at my ass. I thought maybe it was the hard knock he took to the head in early December when he investigated the murder of our town’s former first lady.

  My heart still ached over Georgia’s death and it seemed more tragic when the person who killed her was someone she trusted implicitly. The butler wasn’t always the person who did it, sometimes it was the seventy-year-old housekeeper. I took every opportunity to harass Gabe and his partner, Adrian Goode, about being bested by an elderly woman. Adrian said he should’ve known better because his grandmother could still do a cartwheel at seventy-five years old.

  I rose out of bed when my alarm went off on my cellphone. I liked to tease Gabe about being a wimp when it came to cold weather so I was glad he wasn’t home to witness my sprint to his bathroom to start the shower. I grabbed my toothbrush and toothpaste then climbed beneath the spray of water as soon as it heated up to my preferred temperature–hot enough to please Satan. I tempered it with a tiny bit of cold water on the times that Gabe joined me, but he wasn’t there so I could enjoy every second of depleting his hot water tank.

  I had just stuck my toothbrush in my mouth and began to scrub my teeth when the shower curtain was yanked aside. I screamed in a horribly unmanly fashion and clutched my chest. I felt my face flush with embarrassed heat when Gabe started laughing at my reaction. I knew that dumbass wasn’t laughing at me because I held the keys to his favorite kingdom; a portal of pleasure so thrilling I could put an amusement park out of business.

  “Get in here, you’re letting all the heat out.” He wasn’t wearing any clothes for me to grab so I snatched onto some chest hair and tugged. “You’re lucky I didn’t deep throat my toothbrush with your stupid stunt.”

  Gabe took my toothbrush out of my hand and set it on the shelf before he backed me up so that he too could stand beneath the scalding spray. For once he didn’t complain about the burning water temperature so I knew the blood had already headed south toward his cock. “Mmmm. Deep throat.” Gabe’s moan sent thrills racing down my spine. He began kissing a path from my collarbone to my jaw.

  “Oh no,” I said firmly. “You nearly gave me a heart attack and my heart needs to rest now.” I turned my back on him, as if I was angry, but all I really wanted to do was push my ass into his groin.

  Gabe took the bait, grabbed my hips, and pressed his erection between the globes of my ass. “Forgive me,” he whispered huskily in my ear.

  I was ready to forgive him before the bulbous head of his dick rubbed against my greedy hole. My legs parted on their own accord to grant him more access. I couldn’t imagine a time when I wouldn’t want to take him inside my body. Gabe had done something I thought was impossible; he burrowed himself so deep inside my soul that I’d need divine intervention to extract him.

  “You know what we both need to kick off our morning right.” Gabe reached around and fisted my cock in his large hand. “It’s adorable when you pretend not to want me.”

  It was hard to argue with him when I was grinding my ass on his dick like the cock addict I’d become. “Stop calling me adorable.” I had to find something to fight him on or he’d think I was sick and take his hard-on away.

  “Fucking adorable,” he growled the same time he pushed a lubed finger inside my ass. I never asked, but I wondered if perhaps Gabe had been a Boy Scout when he was younger because he was always prepared. I somehow doubted that there was a badge for lube and condom preparedness, but if there was he surely had one. He never failed to whip out a stash from somewhere when the mood struck. In the shower, he kept them stashed on the shelf next to his shampoo.

  After that, there was no more talking. Grunting, groaning, and moaning were the only things we could muster once he suited up and slid inside me. I braced my arms on the shower wall when Gabe started to move in earnest. He slid his hands up to pinch and roll my nipples, knowing it made me crazy. I laid my head back against his shoulder when it became too heavy for my neck to support. Gabe rubbed his morning scruff against my neck because he knew the response he’d get from me, just as I knew how he loved the feel of my beard against the skin on his inner thighs. He knew my body better than I did and after such a short period of time too.

  He rode me fast until I sprayed my spunk all over the tile, then it was all I could do to hang on while he chased his own release. I could tell he was close by how tight he held my body and the animalistic growls that escaped his throat. He came hard and loud, driving me up on my toes as he spilled deep inside me. Gabe pressed his forehead to my shoulder and rested there until his breathing slowed down and his blood returned to his brain.

  I could get used to this. It wasn’t the first time I had the thought and I was certain it wouldn’t be the last. I was more certain that I was nowhere close to being ready for cohabitating with him. The insane lust I felt for Gabe had turned into genuine affection, but we were still too new to be thinking of doing anything as crazy as move in together.

  “Two more weeks until we go to Florida and you meet my parents.” Gabe’s words snapped me out of my post-coital fog.

  I had always wanted to mean enough to a guy to be introduced to his parents. It had never happened, in fact, I seemed to have the opposite effect on men. They tended to want to hide me away in shame due to my sometimes–okay often–flamboyant nature. People often mistook flamboyancy for femininity and it couldn’t be further than the truth in my case. I had always been the guy you fucked, not the one you took home to Sunday dinners. Until Gabe.

  Gabe had thought of me as feminine at first, but he’d since seen the light. He also saw something in me that made him want to take me home to Florida to meet the parents. I still got a mushy feeling in the pit of my stomach every time I remembered opening the plane tickets on Christmas Eve. He figured the week of Valentine’s Day would give me enough notice for my schedule. He learned in a very short time that my clients scheduled their appointments months in advance and there wa
s no such thing as “off season” when it came to a woman’s hair. Hair maintenance wasn’t a sport; it was a lifestyle.

  I finally had a man who wanted to show me off and all I could do was quake with fear. What if they didn’t like me? They probably loved his ex, Kyle, and we were nothing alike. Gabe could stand proud in front of his family with Kyle, the veterinarian. I am just a hair stylist… That was when my panic came to a screeching halt. I had never been ashamed of what I did for a living. I wasn’t just a hair stylist; I was a successful motherfucking business owner who made women, and a few men, feel good about themselves. I would not cower in shame in front of anyone for my career choice nor would I hide my success.

  “Quit freaking out.” Gabe’s rough chuckle that followed his words had my spine snapping straight up.

  “I was not.” I sounded like I was five, at best.

  “Babe, your body got tight enough with tension to snap off my dick when I mentioned meeting my parents.” Gabe pulled his softening dick out of me just in case. “They’re going to adore you.”

  “Will I adore them?” I thought it was a reasonable question, but Gabe’s laughter said it was funny.

  “You will. They’re easygoing people who are fun to be around.” Gabe kissed below my ear with a wet smack. “Just don’t let my dad talk you into playing poker for money. You and your pets will be on the streets before you can blink an eye.”

  “You doubt my ability to play poker competently, huh?” I wasn’t offended by his opinion because I knew it wasn’t intended as an insult.

  “Your face is so expressive, Josh. I can’t imagine you being able to conceal the fact that you have a good or bad hand.” See, he wasn’t being derogatory so there was no need for my insecurities to flare up and cause an argument. Look at me acting all adult-ish. He had no way of knowing I was raised by the queen of card sharks since he’d never met my parents either. Hmmm.

  “You know, you’re not the only one whose parents live in Florida,” I said. I bit back a laugh when I felt him tense against me. Seemed like I wasn’t the only one who was nervous about meeting parents. “My folks can’t be more than an hour north on I-95.”